


Stories of the Queens

by supernatasha



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Fan theories, Future Fic, Gen, Kid Fic, Series Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernatasha/pseuds/supernatasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a girl curled up on the bed, an old dog sprawled across her feet to keep her warm, a fire flickering in the hearth. Outside, it is dark and the wind howls with the fury of the winter. But inside, the girl refuses to sleep, pestering her mother for a story.</p><p>"Tell me the stories of the Queens!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Greyjoy, Targaryen, Stark

There is a girl curled up on the bed, an old dog sprawled across her feet to keep her warm, a fire flickering in the hearth. Outside, it is dark and the wind howls with the fury of the winter. But inside, the girl refuses to sleep, pestering her mother for a story.

"Please, oh please, mother!" she begs, clasping both hands together. "Just one."

"Your father is the better storyteller," her mother says, running a hand over the scruff of the snoring dog. "Why don't you wait until he's done with his work and he'll tell you a nice one."

The girl pouts, her blue eyes narrow. "I don't want a nice one. All his stories have happy endings."

"And you don't like that, do you?" her mother laughs, lines appearing in the corners of her eyes. The girl knew her mother was older than others, having had her late in life, and the wrinkles on her face were more pronounced than her mates parents. Her father, dark hair already growing gray at the temples, always said it was because of the war that they waited so long. But now the war was long past and all that remained were legends and songs and the waning winter.

"Tell me the stories of the Queens!" the girl says suddenly.

"Which queen?"

"All of them!"

"You're a greedy little thing, aren't you?" her mother asks, but she has a smile on her face. "The Queens of Westeros..."

"Start with the Kraken Queen fighting the great serpent!"

"Ah, the maid who married the axe, captain of the Black Wind, Queen Asha of House Greyjoy. She had just returned back to the Iron Islands with her brother and his wife, where she took charge of the Ironborn after a queensmoot. She set out with a fleet into the sea after several of the ships under her command failed to return. Despite reports of a vicious storm and magical beasts, Asha sailed directly toward the danger."

"Danger," the girl repeats with gleaming eyes. "I want to be dangerous."

"But she wasn't just known for taking risks; Asha was known for the loyalty she inspired in her sailors and all of them followed her into the eye of the storm, past treacherous whirlpools and currents that could swallow entire ships up. As they recall, a sudden silence fell over the deck once they reached the center. And then, from the very depths of the cold black sea rose a dragon- not a fire breathing one, but one with blue scales and no wings."

"Did it have fangs?" the girl interrupted.

"Yes, fangs several feet high. Long enough to gobble you right up. And when it roared, it's breath stank of rotting meat and dead fish and salt, and it sounded like _RAHHH_!" her mother suddenly jolts forward and tickles the girl, who bursts into a squeal that quickly dissolves into laughter.

"How did Queen Asha kill it?" the girl breathes.

"With wildfire. Asha knew there was no way her axe would do anything against a monster this big. But she came well prepared to fight water with fire- the kind that even burned on the sea."

"But there was a problem!"

"Just so," her mother agrees. "A problem. How to get the jars of wildfire close enough to the monster. One of her ships was already destroyed by the sea dragon's claws. So Asha waited until it withdrew back into the murky depths of the sea. Then she took out a rowboat, a little common rowboat with little wooden paddles, and she rowed to where she knew the sea dragon would not be able to resist snatching her out of the water. Asha sent away her men, back into the storm to return for her only after the night had passed. And there, alone in the darkness, she waited for the monster."

"What happened to her?"

"No one knows. Perhaps she survived, perhaps she perished. But when the men awoke in the morning, the storm had cleared to show the sun, the whirlpools were gone, and no one ever saw the queen or the sea dragon again."

"And now the fire dragons. Tell me about them. Tell me how they were born!"

"The story of Daenerys the Unburnt, born in a storm, and her three sons. Queen Dany had been wed to Khal Drogo of the Dothraki Clan, a fierce group of warriors, and she loved him very much. But one day, the Khal recieved a wound to his chest, one that stank and festered and irritated him so. Queen Dany, carrying a child in her belly, worried for her husband and asked one of the slave witches to look at his wound. Unknown to the others, the slave witch didn't heal the Khal's cut, but only made it worse."

"Why did she do it?" the girl complained. "I don't like that witch!"

Her mother's eyes hardened. "Don't be so quick to judge, my dear. When one's people have all been slaughtered heartlessly, one turns to the only thing they have left: revenge."

The girl shrinks back against her mattress at the venomous voice and pulls her covers up higher. Sometimes her mother scared her. She quickly changes the subject, "What happened then?"

"After he fell from his horse, a sign of weakness among the khalasar, the slave witch promised to bring him back to health. Just then, Queen Dany's quickened womb came to life and she knew her son would soon enter the world. But the slave witch took that unborn life and the Khal's life as well and left Queen Dany with nothing but betrayal and the three dragon eggs she had received on her wedding night."

"Will I get dragon eggs when I'm wed?" the girl interrupts.

"You're ten and one. You should not even think of getting wed yet," her mother scolds and sighs. "So much like your aunt."

"Back to the dragons!"

"Queen Dany was furious with the slave witch, whom she had trusted with her husband and son's life. In rage, she lit Khal Drogo's funeral pyre and had the slave witch tied to the wooden pikes to burn with his corpse. Once the woman was burned to ash, the Queen stepped atop the flames herself and went to sleep amidst fire and blood."

"The words of House Targaryen," the girl murmurs in awe and forgets to shut her mouth when her mother continues, listening in slack jawed admiration.

"The remaining members of Queen Dany's khalasar waited through the night to see what had become of their khaleesi in the morning. And when they finally found her in the ash, naked and covered in soot, in her arms were three newly-born dragon babes blinking in the sun's first light and clutching close to their mother."

"I want to see dragons!" the girl cries, cheeks flushed, and the dog draped across her feet looks up in alarm.

"Patience," the woman grins. "You'll see them someday."

"Have you seen them?"

"Yes. I've seen the three dragons and I've seen skulls from dragons long before them, massive, their maws taller than your father and I put together."

The girl's eyes glaze over, mind wandering off to imagine such size. "Where are they?"

"In Queen's Landing."

"Queens!" the girl remembers abruptly. "Tell me of Queen Arianne in the Sou..." she trails off into a yawn.

Her mother looks amused. "You only get one more story tonight. Do you want to hear about one of the Dornish Queens?"

"Just one more?" she asks, frowning.

"Aye. One more then it's time to sleep."

"Then tell me about Sansa Stark!" The girl leans forward eagerly.

Her mother smiles. "The Queen in the North, the she-wolf."

"This one's my favorite but father never tells it to me properly," she declares. "Tell it to me from the beginning."

"The beginning? Darling, I said one more story and you ask me for the whole book!"

"Then tell me about her- not what she did, but what she was like."

"She was lovely, by all accounts. Sansa Stark looked like her Tully mother with red hair and blue eyes and a graceful body. But she acted like her Stark father, with justice and ice in her veins. They say she had a wolf who was killed for her sister, and so Sansa had to become her own animal. She wore a mask, a mask of courtesy and kindness, but under that gentle veneer, she was ruthless. She showed her enemies no mercy."

"Why do they call her the Wed Maiden?"

"Because Sansa Stark was married thrice over without consummating any of her marriages," her mother explains.

"How do you consummate a marriage?"

The woman raises a sharp eyebrow. "I think it's time for you to sleep."

"You're not done!" the girl insists. "Tell me about the others too! About the other Starks!"

The woman stares out the window at the raging snowstorm for a long moment, so the girl nearly thinks her mother won't finish, before going on, "Sansa became lonely soon after the war ended. Bran Stark died fighting the Others. Her half-brother became a cousin and a dragon."

"And a warg," the girl chimes in.

"Yes, and a warg. Her faceless sister was no longer a Stark- she rode into battle on the back of a direwolf, her armor the steel of her skin and her sword the jagged edge of her teeth. And she had killed too many innocents to ever reclaim the honor her father had honed for their house. She only stayed long enough to ensure Sansa was throned rightful queen before escaping with her wolf and her bastard lover. Perhaps that was best, for who would dare to love a disgraced murderer?"

" _I_ would!" she objects. "If they were a nice disgraced murderer."

"Yes, well, you do have a soft spot for misfits and outcast, don't you?" her mother asks affectionately.

"Don't stop now. Finish with the little brother," her daughter prompts.

"Rickon Stark. Boy-wolf, leader of the Skagosi clan. As a child, he was already fierce and wild. He never returned from that cursed isle, no matter how many emissaries were sent. He forgot the Common Tongue and snapped at his sister when she came to collect him. He often talked to his direwolf. His tongue, they say, was as red as blood and his teeth were filed and pointed as fangs."

"He's terrifying," the girl mutters as another yawn takes over her, stretching her lips into an O.

"And you're tired." Her mother stands and tucks her daughter in, asking, "So which queen do you like best? Dany, with her dragons? Or one of the Jeynes- one married to a king and leader of a kingdom she never saw and the other ruler of the bleak Iron Islands? Or Greyjoy, who kept a dagger between her breasts?"

The girl giggles nervously. "Father wouldn't use that word."

"Then it's a good thing he's downstairs," her mother winks conspiratorially and the girl is overcome with a fit of laughter.

Then she looks up with earnest eyes and brushes back her bark brown hair. "I think I like you best. I want to be like you, mother. Even if you're not a queen."

The girl can swear her mother's eyes fill with tears, but she quickly turns away to kneel at the fire. "You shouldn't want to be like your mother, dear. You should want to be yourself."

She shrugs in response, mouth slack and limbs loose in lazy warmth. Her mother smooths the sheets one last time. The girl looks up with drowsy blue eyes, blinking in the dim light. "Good night, mother," she sighs, drifting off toward sweet sleep.

"Good night, Catelyn," her grey-eyed mother kisses the girl's forehead and runs her fingers through the old dog's coat one last time. The last thing she hears before falling into slumber is the soft whisper, "And good night, Nymeria."

From downstairs waft up clanging sounds of her father at the forge.


	2. The Grey Queen and the Giant

A knock jolts the girl from her lessons, persistent at the front door. The old dog's ears perk and she keens softly. Her mother stands, in her hands a helm she had been polishing and buffing for a customer while her father delivered another client's horseshoes. Her mother peeks from the window of the second floor. She turns to Catelyn and hisses, "Hide!"

"What?" the girl responds, confused.

Her mother gestures to the bed and Cat gets to her feet, slipping under the dusty bed and holding back a cough. Her heart pounds erratically against her chest.

Her mother's feet and the old dog's paws disappear down the stairs to the smithy, the knocks at the door now a violent thumping.

Voices, heavy and harsh. Her own mother's aggressive shout travels to Cat's ears. A crashing sound, a clang. Barking. The slamming of a door. Silence. Footsteps coming back up the stairs.

"Cat?" her mother's voice trembles.

The girl slides out from the bed and sneezes. Her mother has a skinny sword in her grip and a hard expression on her face. Behind her, the old dog sits back on her haunches and stares. "Mother?"

"Cat, we need to go. Now. Pack your things."

"What? Who was that?"

Her mother leans forward, putting her free hand on Cat's shoulders. "We need to leave Braavos for a while, darling. Get your clothes and your heaviest furs."

"I don't understand," she murmurs, but her mother has already turned away.

By the time her father returns at nightfall, Cat and her mother have all packed up. Her father, his hair half ash half coal, seems to understand as soon as he sees his wife and daughter standing at the head of the stairs with packs and bundles in their hands, wearing their sturdiest travelling boots.

After a hushed conversation, they leave by the back of the forge into snow-filled air where their two horses wait in the stables. Catelyn calls the mares Visenya and Rhaenys. They whinny nervously when they approach and her father saddles one up, packing their things on his back. On the other, Visenya, her mother leaps up and calls, "I'll see you soon. Cat, be good for your father."

"Wait," her father's voice is hoarse. He reaches up and takes her mother's hand. "I love you."

Her mother presses a kiss to his lips. Cat wrinkles her nose and looks away. A moment later, Visenya rides away swiftly, Nymeria running after. Cat watches intently. "Father, where are we going?"

"Somewhere far from here, little cub," he murmurs. He calls her that sometimes, when she acts wild and stubborn or he has been drinking and being all weepy.

"Where?" she insists. Instead of answering, her father hoists her up Rhaenys and follows suit, settling into the saddles. The mare begins moving through the snow, one step after another on an abandoned road she does not recognize.

"Are you warm?" her father asks a moment later, heavy furs and sharp wind separating their bodies so he sounds more like a distant memory.

"Yes," she answers in a small voice. "I'm also scared."

"Nothing to be scared of, Cat," he tells her.

"What about the men who came this morning?"

"They were nobody."

"Please don't tell me lies, father," Cat tries to sound strong. She is a big girl now. She isn't a babe to be placated or spoken down to.

"Of course not," her father says. "I just don't want you to worry."

The girl considers for a moment. She _is_ worrying, it is true. The rough road jostles her on the mare's back and she struggles to keep her balance. Finally, she says, "Will you tell me a story, Father?"

"A story?" he sounds both intrigued and surprised.

"Yes, please. A story about a queen."

He laughs, the sound a comfort while she cannot see his face, and asks, "Which queen? A Targaryen?"

"No. A Baratheon," she says and her father gasps behind her. Cat doesn't understand. Has she said something wrong? She clarifies, "Tell me about the Grey Queen and the Giant, Father."

There is a pause before her father begins. "Once upon a time, in a kingdom far far away-"

"The Wall isn't far far away," the girl corrects with a little giggle, but her father continues.

"There lived a little girl-"

"She wasn't little," the girl interrupts again.

"If you stop me, I won't tell you anymore," her father warns. The girl falls silent, already feeling better and more relaxed than just a few minutes ago.

"The little girl's name was Shireen, and she was the daughter of the Great Noble House of Baratheon, who were strong and stubborn and mighty. This little mighty girl's father fought the Others at the Wall while also fighting for the Iron Throne."

"Stannis," the girl murmurs, softly and to herself, not wanting her father to hear. The wind swallows her voice up.

"The girl grew into a woman at the Wall, at Castle Black with Lord Commander Jon and her mother."

"And Patchface," the girl throws in, forgetting to be quiet for a moment.

Her father does not scold her, only says, "And Patchface, indeed. She had been afflicted with greyscale as a child, and now others avoided her and called her the Grey Princess behind her back. There was only one who did not make fun of her or judge her."

"Wun Wun the Giant."

"The giant was a gentle soul, didn't eat animal flesh, rarely fought, kind and a bit thick, but well intentioned. While at the Castle, one of the Queen's Men rushed at Wun Wun with a sword and the giant killed the knight to defend himself. Queen Selyse demanded the giant be put to death but Shireen begged for his life. She swore to take responsibility for the giant and his actions, promised he would never hurt another living being again. Her mother agreed to the terms and Wun Wun became her personal guard."

"And her friend," the girl adds smugly, hugging her furs closer.

"But not a very clever one," her father laughs. "When the Others began their attack and Stannis's army joined the Night's Watch in the Land Beyond the Wall, Queen Selyse and Shireen stayed at the castle with Wun Wun to protect them. Soon, some of the Others seeped through the ranks and found their way to the courtyard of Castle Black. Shireen and her mother tried to escape but Selyse was killed in the process. Shireen grabbed a sword and climbed upon Wun Wun's back to escape into the wilderness."

"Is that what we're doing now, Father?" the girl asks. Her father tenses behind her. She knows he heard the question, but he goes on with his story.

"Shireen fell asleep against a tree and Wun Wun watched over her. He shrieked when he saw a man approaching, a deserter from the Night's Watch who was running to safety. When the man saw Shireen Baratheon sleeping against the tree, he thought to kill her there and then, along with the giant. Shireen could have easily had Wun Wun kill the man, but she had made her mother a promise and it was very important to keep that promise now that Queen Selyse was dead."

"What did Shireen do?" the girl prompts her father.

"She had no other choice. Shireen Baratheon held her sword and took the deserter's life with her own hands. And Wun Wun brought her back South to her father where they lived happily ever after."

They did not live Happily Ever After. Catelyn knows that. She knows Shireen was found half frozen and nearly starved with Wun Wun weeks later, wandering crazed through the forest with bloody hands. She knows her father, Stannis, lost the Iron Throne to Queen Dany and knelt to his knees, was allowed to rule over Storm's End. She knows Wun Wun died in service of Queen Shireen at her castle; that the giant fell into deep water from a bridge that could not hold his weight.

But her father's stories always end in happily ever afters. And at the moment, without her mother, with their mare plodding to destinations unknown, Cat thinks that a Happily Ever After might be all they needed.

"Thank you, Father. It was a wonderful story."

"Cat, we aren't running away," her father tells her. "We are running to."

The girl tries to swivel to face her father, but between their heavy furs and the horses movement, she can only manage to wiggle. "Running to what?" she asks.

"You'll see," he answers and refuses to say anymore when she persists.

Eventually, she gives up. She pats Rhaeyns's back and promises herself to be prepared for whatever her parents weren't telling her.


	3. Dark Queen on the Dragon's Back

The girl sits with a pout on her face, refusing to talk to her mother or father, her arms wrapped around the old dog. She is in one of her moods. Her parents refuse to tell her where they are going and her mother sold their horses – _beloved_ horses to her – for passage on a ship.

From what little conversation she can overhear from the ship's crew, the girl understands that they are going to Westeros. Past that, Cat knows nothing more and her parents talk in hushed tones, lines of worry on her mother's forehead, her father's jaw clenched. The ship rocks gently.

On the second day, her father gets seasick, vomiting into a bucket and spending the rest of his time in his cot below deck. The girl is meant to be staying with her father in their cabin but when the Narrow Sea sways and rocks him into slumber, the girl creeps up the stairs with her furs wrapped tight around her, and stares out into the endless blue with the dog lying at her feet.

It is where her mother finds her.

"Cat, what're you doing up here?" she asks gently, though the girl knows her mother disapproves.

"I just wanted to look at the sea. It's beautiful," she says. "Don't you think it's beautiful?"

Her mother nods despite her gaze staying fixed on the girl's face. "Are you talking to me now? No more sulking?"

The girl remembers her angry mood and makes a face to show her anger isn't completely gone. "I was only sulking because you and Father won't tell me anything."

"We will," her mother says wearily. "Just not now. Trust me, you will cherish these few unburdened days when you finally learn the truth."

"I want to know _now!_ I want to know why we had to leave home and why we had to sell the horses. I want to know why we're going to Westeros and I want to know why nobody is telling me anything."

Her mother leans against the railings of the ship and rubs her eyes. Her breath is visible in the cold air when she speaks, "Is there nothing you want more than to know?"

"Are there any lemon cakes on the ship?" the girl asks hopefully.

It is nice to see her mother smile after so long spent tense and tired. She shakes her head and sits beside the girl on deck, holding on to the railing and answers, "I'm afraid not, Cat. You can have as many as you want when we port. Anything else I can bribe you with?"

The girl considers. "How about a story?"

"About a queen?" her mother asks, one eyebrow raised.

Cat nods eagerly. "One about a southern queen!"

"A Martell?"

She nods again.

"First tell me their words."

"Unbowed, unbent, unbroken," the girl recites proudly. "Their sigil is a spear through a sun. And they were founded by a queen named Nymeria, just like our Nymeria!"

Her mother reaches down and affectionately pats the old dog, who huffs in her sleep, and agrees, "Just like our Nymeria. The Queen in the South now is Arianne Martell, or Arianne Targaryen after she was wed to Queen Dany's nephew. She rode with her husband on their dragon, Rhaegal, during the war."

"And she rode him alone once as well, didn't she, Mother?"

"Yes, only once. When Aegon fell ill after being attacked by a White Walker during the war. He was too injured to walk, even to ride, and to take to the air would have meant certain death for him. His half-brother, Jon, was with Viserion at Eastwatch, and his aunt was at Castle Black. Aegon and Arianne were alone at the Shadow Tower with only enough men to protect the injured Aegon as he healed. Arianne knew more White Walkers were approaching their post and the soldiers would soon run out of arrows. Rhaegal perched on the top of the tower when Arianne went up the parapets."

"Mother, did the dragons ever eat people?"

The woman nods, "Drogon was known for preying on human flesh, but his brothers never got the taste. To this day, there have been no reports of Viserion or Rhaegal eating people."

"So Arianne was still safe when she went to the dragon?" the girl's blue eyes blink in anticipation. She tries to imagine how a dragon would look, their huge jaws and wide eyes, their fangs and spiky tails, the fire spurting from their throats. It's both exciting and alarming and Cat feels a new swelling of respect for the queen.

"Of course she wasn't safe. The dragons were not averse to attacking humans who tried to control them. It is how her brother died years before. So as you understand, Arianne had to have worked up her nerve as a queen is apt to do in time of trouble simply to make the climb. Once she reached him, the world does not know what conspired between woman and dragon."

"Not even you?"

"Not even me," her mother affirms. "But the soldiers recall watching the dragon flap his wings and take to the air, snorting fire and bellowing at the moon with the beautiful dark southern queen almost indistinguishable from the night on his back. Arianne and Viserion flew deep into the lands beyond the Wall where a group of wights were fast approaching and burned the creatures to a crisp in their path. They were back before dawn broke, the sun chasing Viserion's tail as they landed back on the Shadow Tower and Arianne rejoined her husband inside."

The girl asks, "Do you think she was scared on Viserion's back?"

"Yes, Cat. I think she was terrified. I think she had to remember how strong her aunt was in King's Landing when she was surrounded by Lannisters and Targaryens, how strong her brother was when he went to ask Dany's hand in marriage, how strong her nuncle was to fight the Mountain. I think she sat on his back and repeated her words over and over until, for just a small moment, she wasn't scared anymore but thrilled."

Sometimes, as the girl watches, her mother's face hardens. Her steel grey eyes burn with a passion, with anger and sorrow and something else; something the girl herself has never experienced. It is at these times that the girl is unsure if her mother is telling a story or blurring the lines and recalling her own past.

Her mother scares her at times like these.

Quick to distract, the girl thinks of another topic. "Mother?" Cat looks up, the wind blowing her messy hair into bright blue eyes. "How did you meet Father?"

A smile spreads over her mother's face, warm and comforting, the rage in her eyes melting away into soft affection. The girl is almost sure her mother isn't aware of the smile and it makes the girl feel nice, that her parents are still so in love. Some of her friends parents couldn't stand each other, always fighting and screaming. "We met when we were just children. Stupid children. And then we were separated and we didn't meet again until the war. Nymeria nearly tore him into pieces," her mother chuckles.

The girl's eyebrows shoot up and she demands, "Why?"

"There was a war going on, sweetling. Your father worked at a smithy by an inn and he thought I was an intruder. He came after me with a hammer. If Nymeria hadn't stopped him, our story would be rather different today."

The girl thinks for a moment. "I thought you fought in the war?"

"We did. Everybody did," her mother replies. Then, "I told you the story so you wouldn't ask any more questions, sweetling. One must keep their promises."

Cat shakes her head stubbornly. "Please, Mother. Only a few more. Tell me where we are going."

Her mother sighs, resignation in her eyes. "Well, your father and I are going home. My home, before I met your father, before the war. Where I was born and raised."

The girl stares at her mother for a long moment. It makes sense, though she had never explicitly thought about it. It explains their accents and why they know so much about Westeros, why they keep teaching her about it. But for as many questions it answers, it raises even more. "Why'd you leave?"

"After the war, I had to. Otherwise I would endure the judgments passed by men and women who didn't understand and be bound by duty to marry a man I didn't love."

"You loved Father?" the girl asks. When her mother nods, she adds, "Why couldn't you marry him?"

Her mother is quiet for a long time after that before she finally says, "I don't know. It's hard to understand the way some people think, how they draw lines not by the character of a man but by his birth, by his blood." Her mother stands abruptly. "No more questions. You ask for one and take six. Enough," she says firmly.

"One more," the girl begs, her hands clasped before her. She makes the saddest face she knows how to, eyebrows drawn together and lips turned down, the one that makes her father call her little cub. Her mother falls for it as well, nodding into submission, and the girl thinks long and hard about the last question her mother would answer today. She asks at last, "The knock on the door, when someone came to our house- what did they say?"

Lips pressed together in a hard flat line so Cat almost regrets asking, she is grateful when her mother responds in a brittle voice, "They said, _Sansa Stark is dead. Long live the queen._ "


	4. The New Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick word: this last chapter doesn't contain a story of one of the "queens" that have already been introduced in the books; it furthers the story arc of an OC and the other main characters. Thanks for reading!

Their ship ports somewhere named the Hornwood, deep in the Broken Branch. It still snows heavily in the north, though the chill in Bravos had begun to clear. The air is freezing and Cat has to press close to her father's side as they get off the ship when the first of the chill hits her. Nymeria seems as delighted as her father to reach land, bouncing away from them in short excited yips and vanishing into the surrounding woods a few moments later.

"Mother- Nymeria's gone!" the girl exclaims.

"Yes, don't worry. She'll keep track of us. Nymeria's home as well as us, sweetling," her mother says absent-mindedly. She counts out coins in her palm. "We'll need horses. We have hours ahead of us to ride."

"Ride where?"

Her mother and father exchange glances and her father says, "You said you'd tell her when we docked. No more lies, no more secrets."

"I never lied," her mother grumbles. She kneels down to look into the girl's eyes. "We're going to Winterfell, the seat of the North."

"Why?"

Her father chuckles behind her and her mother glares at him until he quiets down. "Because you are to be the next queen of the North. You are Sansa Stark's heir apparent."

The girl is silent for a long time after that, with her mother searching her face and her father's voice echoing distantly in her ears. She can make out neither. Her mind spins and the cold air does nothing to bring her back to her mind. She says at last, "You're Arya Stark. I thought your name was Nan but it's not."

"Aye," her mother's lips lift in a small smile. "And you're Arya Stark's daughter, sweetling. You were named after my mother, Catelyn, and you are to sit upon the throne of Winterfell." With that, her mother lifts the girl into her arms, though the girl knows she is heavy, and says, "My beautiful fierce little wolf, you are not just a girl. You never were and you never will be. You are Catelyn Stark of noble blood of the First Men in your veins."

Catelyn nods, unable to say anything more. Her whole life, she hadn't known she was a Stark or Westerosi. She hadn't even known her mother's name. When her mother puts her down, she holds her father's hand and follows them to the stables where her mother barters for horses that are not Visenya or Rhaenys. She doesn't talk when her father hoists her up on a horse or when her mother once again rides ahead of them. She doesn't speak when Nymeria comes running out of the woods with her long shaggy coat covered in mud and tiny insects and keeps pace with them.

She is even silent when the horses stop at an inn, large and glowing with firelight, and her mother waits for them in the stables to say she has a room. Cat watches as she speaks to her father quickly and quietly before turning her attention down.

Her mother asks, "Would you like to check whether the inn has lemon cakes?"

And Cat turns to her father and asks, "Is your name really Gendry?"

Her father grins wide and says, "Yes, little cub. And your name is really Catelyn and nothing else has changed."

"I'm Queen Sansa's heir apparent," she says softly. "That has changed."

"But you still need to eat and sleep. That hasn't," her mother says firmly. She hands her father a small metal key. "Gendry, take her up. I'll be in soon. I… need to speak with the owners of the inn."

Her father nods and then Cat is being picked up once again. "No, I want to walk," she insists and her father lets her feet touch the ground again. With her head held high, Cat goes up the steps to her room beside her father.

"Your mum will bring supper," her father says.

But Cat curls up on the bed and pulls up her feet. When the door opens again and her mother calls her name, she pretends to be asleep. She isn't hungry and she has far too much to think about. Did they do it to protect her? Does she _need_ protection?

Cat doesn't realize when she drifts off.

 

Winterfell – all of Westeros, it seems – is nothing like Braavos. Where one was bursting with color and spice, this one is bland and colorless. The trees are a leafless brown and the snow is pure white and the skies are ominous grey. Her mother seems to fit right in, finally riding beside them the next morning. Her pale skin and short bark hair belong with the north, and her grey eyes hold just as much warning as the skies do of a storm.

Even the people look as though their energy has been leeched out from them and Cat frowns at every passerby, thinking, _these are my people?_

They reach the center of Winterfell eventually, the stables behind the castle. Nymeria leads them to it, her tail wagging high in the air. A howl breaks out from one of the separate stablehouses and several horses around them whinny nervously. Her mother speaks to one of the guards and hands him the reins to their horses as Cat gets off.

Nymeria bounds off and her mother looks at Cat. "Come," she holds out her hand and Catelyn takes it. They make their way to the howling, where a huge dog with white streaked fur waits.

"Hello, Summer," her mother says, holding out a hand and letting the massive dog sniff it before patting it on the head. For a moment, Cat is taken aback. She has always known how big Nymeria was compared to other dogs, but watching another animal as large and strong catches her off guard. She had never known there were others like her in the world.

 _Direwolves,_ she thinks abruptly, watching the two beasts keen like lost pups reunited.

She follows her mother to the wooden front doors of the palace where a single bored looking guard leans against them. The girl stares as her mother suddenly pulls away and holds the point of her sword at the guard's throat. He swallows audibly, eyes wide with fear.

"You may not recognize this steel but it's from the forges of Winterfell. And you may not recognize me, but my home is the same as the sword. Now open the gates. I want no bloodshed in this palace," her mother says.

The guard complies at once and the three of them, Arya Stark, Catelyn, and Gendry, are into the castle of Winterfell at last. Her mother knows where to go, heading straight into the heart of the castle, past large illuminating windows and thick doors. They only come across one other guard and her mother holds her sword out to him until he lets them pass.

Then her mother presses a quick kiss to Cat's forehead and whispers, "Remember our words, sweetling." She pushes open the last door.

Cat comes into a large hall, a huge space with people sitting on both sides, a path cleared in the middle leading to empty thrones adorned with wolves. Men with beards, women in furs and pelts, long brown hair and dark colored eyes, pale skin, long legs. Cat stares at them openly as they all hush and watch the three make their way further into the hall.

A woman, who by all accounts looks more like her mother with her long pointed face and grey eyes than Cat does with her blue ones, leans forward in her seat by the front of the hall. The first movement since their entrance. She is the first to speak. "Arya? Arya Stark?"

"Hello, Alys."

Alys, the woman, stands. She looks confused, eyes wide and unsure which of them to stop at."Arya –"

"Arya Stark, come to mourn her sister's death," a big blonde woman wearing armor interrupts. She steps forward and bows abruptly to Cat's mother. "My name is Brienne, my lady. I served your sister with loyalty and dedication, the head of her queensguard from the moment she was crowned to her last breath. We all mourn the loss Winterfell has suffered."

"There are no words to express her loss, indeed. And there is heartache that I never had the chance to speak to my sister again. But I haven't returned just to mourn," her mother speaks loudly so there is no doubt every man and woman in the hall can hear her. "I have brought Sansa Stark's heir. This is my daughter, the last Stark loyal to Winterfell, Catelyn."

A stunned silence follows the revelation, echoing the sentiment Cat herself had felt when her mother told her the truth.

"Heir? This is not how the laws of Westerosi inheritance work!" the man sitting beside Alys booms, his voice echoing through the long hall. "We are no Martells, to place a girl on the throne when there are men for the job!"

Her mother fixes the man with her glare and the girl feels a welling of pity for him. She has been on the receiving end of that harsh steel look and it terrifies her. Perhaps it terrifies the man too, because he falls silent. "You were a Wildling until you married Lady Karstark, were you not Lord Sigorn?" she asks. "And were you not bannermen of Queen Sansa for years?"

"Aye," the man's voice is low but Cat can detect the anger in it. She clutches her hands behind her back and refuses to let her spine slump forward. She's a Stark, a Stark of Winterfell. A direwolf. Her mother is Arya Stark who fought in the war, whose sister was a Queen- and now she will be one too. Cat doesn't let her conflicting emotions show on her face.

"If you bring up any matters of incompetence my daughter displays, I will take your word seriously. But until then, another baseless accusation from your mouth will result in punishment for treason. I _will_ have your head on a spike, Lord Sigorn," her mother says the words evenly and without hesitation.

Alys holds up her hand to speak, "Arya- we fought together in the war. You saved my life more than once and I am sure I saved yours. But you must understand, Queen Sansa's decree declared her Hand to inherit the throne after her. She tried for years to have children but could not and as such, she has no next of kin."

"I'm her sister, Alys. I am her kin. My daughter is her kin. Don't presume to speak down to me or dismiss my daughter's claim. Winterfell has been ruled for Starks for years and it will be again."

"Then why'd you run from it?" Sigorn interrupts and Cat has to struggle not to shrink behind her mother as the big man's eyes flick to her once more.

Her mother falls silent and her father begins, "It doesn't matter. She's back now and she has a daughter, half Stark and half Baratheon, trained since birth in matters of nobility in the chance that Queen Sansa left no heirs."

"Baratheon?" Alys asks curiously.

"My father was Robert Baratheon," her father nods.

The blonde woman in armor nods and a murmuring runs through the hall. Cat doesn't understand until Sigorn blurts, "You're a bastard!"

"Catelyn isn't," he snaps back. "Arya and I have been married under the old gods and the new since the war."

Cat can feel her ears burn. She hadn't known her father was a bastard, though she should have remembered the stories about Arya Stark and her disappearance after the war. She wonders what it means for her. Does it make her baseborn? Does it make her related to Shireen Baratheon of Storm's End?

Alys speaks up again, her dark eyes never once leaving Cat's face as she admits, "Catelyn's claim to the throne is higher than our sons, Sigorn. The throne rightfully belongs to a Stark."

From behind them, a voice says, "Alys is right. This throne was never meant for anyone other than a Stark."

Cat turns to see a man, a figure with paling blond hair and broad shoulders, not as tall as her father but with as much poise. He enters the hall, behind him a guard- the guard that her mother had gotten past earlier. As he approaches, the hall stands collectively. Her mother and father bow, her mother only at the waist and her father kneeling on one knee, and she realizes he must be Harrold, the king. Cat hesitates before beginning to lean forward but her mother touches her hand lightly and Cat stops mid-motion and remains the only one in the hall to stand tall.

He stops before Catelyn and smiles. "Speak, girl. Has anyone in this hall even heard your voice yet?"

She shakes her head, then remembers she is Sansa Stark's niece who was queen of the north, and says in a confident clear voice, "No, they haven't, your grace."

The king chuckles as her parents both straighten again. He turns to her mother and says, "Arya. We met only once before and, if memory serves, you held a sword to my heart and threatened to kill me if harm ever befell Sansa."

"The threat was not idle," she answers.

The king continues walking to the throne carved with intricate thrones and weirwood branches and sits on it with a sigh. "Why didn't you return at once when your daughter was born?"

"And make her a target?" her mother asks. "Surely your grace remembers what my sister and I endured simply for being of noble blood, how I lost all my brothers. I did not want my daughter growing up in the same environment, with dangers in every direction and a father not accepted by most. I was willing to wait years longer to return. Alas, my dear Sansa's timing was rushed."

"Catelyn. Stark, is it?" the King narrows his eyes. "Why is it Stark? Her father is- what? Born in Queen's Landing so a Waters? One of Robert's so a Baratheon?"

"I kept Waters, your grace," her father says. "But we decided Catelyn would be a Stark after her mother in the Braavosi fashion."

"Braavos," King Harrold raises an eyebrow. "That's where the elusive Arya Stark escaped to with her smith and wolf. The Free Cities in Essos."

"But she is learned of Westeros, of our history and songs, of our customs and ways, of the Common Tongue," her mother adds. "She knows of nobles and she knows how to fight with a sword and a hammer, she knows how to read and write. She knows to courtesy and speak her mind. Her aunt would be proud."

King Harrold nods tiredly. "That she would. I suspect she would be proud of the girl simply for existing."

"Your grace," her mother takes a step forward and bows lightly. "You are the king and you will be the regent until your death –"

"Arya Stark should be the queen after her sister's death," the king cuts in. "Not me. I would choose to return to my home in the Vale before my death and leave the North in capable hands."

Cat's eyes widen. Her mother, the queen. But her mother shakes her head and says, "No. I have neither the desire nor the temperament to be a queen. I have only followed the Tully words to family, to honor, to duty. I have ensured Winterfell would always remain under a Stark as it has been for centuries. That it will flourish."

No one speaks then. Catelyn thinks hours pass under the gaze of the king, under Alys and her Wildling husband, under the gaze of the blonde woman in armor. But then, too soon, King Harrold says, "It seems we must prepare for a coronation." He stands and holds out a hand. "Queen Catelyn, I welcome you to your throne."

Her mother gestures toward the throne and her father smiles. Catelyn steps forward and takes Harrold's hand. He moves to the side, allowing Catelyn to stand before the throne. With her pulse beating quickly in her heart, like the hammering of her father at his forge, Cat turns and stares out into the sea of faces- her people. They _are_ her people. King Harrold encouragingly nods to her.

Catelyn clears her throat, suddenly terrified of saying the wrong thing, of blurting her incompetence and disappointing her mother, or alienating her bannermen, of shaming the memory of her House. Then she thinks of the stories she grew up hearing: Asha Greyjoy fighting sea dragons with a dagger hidden in her tunic, Arianne Martell who overcame her fear and rode a dragon during the war, Shireen Baratheon her half-aunt who befriended a giant and survived beyond the Wall, Daenerys the khaleesi who returned to Westeros with her magnificent beasts. Above all, she remembers Sansa Stark. The woman who lost her loved ones, her brothers and sisters, her wolf and her parents, her identity. She had lost it all yet she still sat on the throne and was loved and respected by her vassals.

Catelyn Stark takes a deep breath and declares, "Winter is coming!"

And when the cry is repeated by Brienne, "Winter is coming! _Long live the queen!_ " the hall bursts into a roar, of clapping and cheering and her name being repeated until Catelyn's lips tug up in a smile and she sits back on her throne, grateful and proud, every bit the queen she had dreamed of being.


End file.
